A MASHy Christmas
by Kooshball
Summary: ...Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse... But Christmas Eve was chaos. A challenge I've had for a while now and wanted to use. Merry Xmas!


Koosh: A challenge fic given to me by Kitty Kat-Chan in _June_ (yes, I'm a slack writer). I thought I needed to bring out a Xmas fic, so here it is. I've included the challenge at the end, so not to spoil the story.

**Christmas with MASH

* * *

**

Disclaimer: If I owned MASH, you'd know about it. And also, anything said by Frank does not reflect on my own beliefs.

* * *

It was Christmas Eve. The mess tent was decorated with streamers, Henry was already smashed on eggnog (laced with gin from the Still) and enlisted men could be found hiding under the mistletoe, waiting for unsuspecting nurses.

Like any other day, Christmas Eve was full of little dramas all over camp.

"Whaddya mean, seeing someone else?"

Frank's high pitched voice broke the quiet across camp, and a few birds perched on a frozen branch outside Major Margaret Houlihan's tent flew off in surprise.

"Calm down, Frank," Margaret said semi-patiently. "Your yelling gives me a headache."

"How could you be seeing someone else?" Frank whined, his voice and pitch thankfully lower. "What about me?"

"What about your wife, Frank?" Margaret snapped.

"You can't have been seeing her," Frank said. "She's in the States, and it's not, well, _patriotic_ for two women to… you know." (Readers, refer to disclaimer).

"No, Frank," Margaret said, sounding severely pissed off. "You're married. I've decided it is not longer acceptable for me to be seeing a married man."

"But Honey-Bunch," Frank continued to whine. "It's never bothered you before."

"Well, it bothers me now," Margaret said.

"So you're seeing an enlisted man?" Frank asked. "But you said you'd never stoop to the level of an enlisted man, and the only unmarried officer in camp is…" He trailed off, a look of horror slowly increasing on his face.

"I'm sorry I had to do this on Christmas, Frank," Margaret said. "Now get out of my tent." Frank, mouth still slightly agape, wandered to the door. He paused with the door open in his hand, and his thrust what little chin he had forward.

"Good riddance," he said. "My wife is younger and prettier than you, anyway." He had to move quickly to avoid the army boot flying towards his head.

"He's gone," Margaret said tiredly, sitting on her bunk. The wardrobe opened slowly, and Hawkeye glanced around the tent. Who'd have thought he'd be using the hiding spot Frank had often used himself, and for the same reason.

"He didn't take it well, did he?" he asked.

"Don't worry about Frank," Margaret said, going to him as he emerged fully from the hanging clothes. "He'll get over it." The two embraced and kissed.

Across the compound, running for the showers and with a shower cap over his head, was Klinger, with Radar following worriedly. Frank's screeches had woken Klinger, who had fallen asleep while waiting for a dye in his hair to be ready to be rinsed from his head. The dye was for his latest section eight attempt, but since it had been longer than the suggested half hour, Klinger was panicking.

"Klinger, wait!" Radar was yelling after the Corporal. "The nurses are in there!"

Too late, Klinger had already stumbled in, and a few naked, screaming nurses ran out. Radar stopped to cover his eyes (after taking a curious peek at the bare bodied women first), and continued to walk briskly towards the showers. Klinger was inside, drenched from standing under the cold water, shower cap in his hand. Coloured dye was leaking onto his pale blue dress, turning the top half of it a streaky purple colour.

"How could I have fallen asleep!" he was saying loudly to himself. "My hair is ruined!"

"Gee, I don't know," Radar said. "It's turning out ok." Klinger stepped out from under the shower and grabbed one of the abandoned towels. His dried his hair roughly, then attempted to dry his dress.

"Ruined," he said in dismay, looking at his now purple dress. "Completely ruined." He pushed past Radar into the compound, heading back to his tent. He made it halfway across the compound before someone yelled out to him.

"Klinger!"

"Yes sir?" Klinger asked, turning to face Henry. The CO was walking towards him, a funny look on his face. No doubt he was slightly drunk; he hadn't been fully sober since mid-November, though he seemed to have enough of his senses left to sense something was wrong with Klinger.

"Why are you all wet?" Henry demanded.

"Just came from the showers, sir," Klinger said, shivering slightly in the freezing Korean wind.

"And why is your hair pink?" Henry asked. Klinger's hand few to his head.

"Pink?" he whimpered. It was meant to be red, not pink. The dye must have been defective.

"Yes, pink," Henry said. "Bright pink, like a geisha girl's kimono."

"I've got to go," Klinger yelled, running to his tent. He found the mirror, and stared at himself. Like Henry had said, his hair was a bright pink, about the same colour as his pink fuzzy slippers. "I've got nothing to go with this!" he yelled in horror.

* * *

Trapper sat in the Officer's club, staring moodily at the wall. There was half a beer in his hand, and three or four empty cans scattered on the table. He'd been there for at least an hour, and feeling more depressed the longer he sat there.

Hawkeye walked in with one arm wrapped around Margaret's shoulders when he saw his tent mate and the mood he was in.

"I've got to talk to Trap," Hawkeye told Margaret. "I'll meet you at the table over there in a minute."

"Ok," Margaret said, kissing him on the cheek lightly before walking over to the table in the corner. Hawkeye made his way to the stool beside Trapper and sat down.

"I guess you told Frank then," Trapper said. "I heard him screaming about it earlier today."

"Yeah, Margaret told him," Hawkeye said.

"If you get too cutesy, you know I'm gonna have to get with Frank and torment you and Margaret," Trapper said.

"I know," Hawkeye replied. "I promise we won't get too cutesy." He ordered his and Margaret's drinks, and there was a silence between the two for a moment. "What's wrong?" Hawkeye asked finally.

"Nothing's wrong," Trapper said with a shrug. "I'm just a million miles from home away from the people I love in the middle of a war. I don't see why you'd think there was anything wrong."

"I wish I could say I knew how you feel," Hawkeye said. "But all I have back home is my dad." Trapper made a noncommittal grunt. "But," Hawkeye said forcefully, "You're not the only one to be away from family. Think of Sargent Meadows. He's left his wife and teenager at home this Christmas. Private O'Connell is missing his son's first Christmas ever. And what about Radar? He's still a kid himself, and he's stuck in this hellhole with us away from his family."

"Yeah, stop making me feel guilty," Trapper said. "I felt happier feeling sorry for myself." Hawkeye smiled slightly.

"Just don't do anything stupid," he warned. "It's Christmas, and I don't want to have to be sewing or bandaging or setting anything because you've got into a fight or punched a door or something." He patted Trapper on the shoulder before grabbing his and Margaret's drinks and going to the table in the corner.

"Right," Trapper muttered.

* * *

Henry stumbled into the Mess tent, being held up by Leslie. "Am I late?" he slurred. Radar glanced at his watch.

"No sir, right on time," he lied. He didn't have the heart to tell him that the Christmas party in the Mess tent had been going strong for nearly three hours now. Leslie helped Henry stagger towards a spare seat between Klinger and Father Mulcahy.

"Love the hair, Klinger," Leslie said as Henry slumped to the table, his face hitting a bowl of dip. Moments later, he was snoring.

"It's a mess," Klinger moaned. He had managed to borrow a blouse that sort of matched his hair from one of the nurses. "Pink. Pink! It was meant to be red."

"Why did you want red hair anyway?" Father Mulcahy asked as Leslie walked away.

"I got this idea, see?" Klinger said, looking at the priest over Henry's back. "I figured the dresses weren't enough, and I needed something more. Make-up gets to be expensive, and who has the time at a MASH unit to apply mascara and lip liner and all that rubbish? Not me. So I figured I could dye my hair. Half an hour a fortnight isn't bad time-wise, and you have to admit, it does get the message across."

"You're right," Father Mulcahy agreed. After a brief pause, he asked, "By the way, what _is_ the message?"

On the other side of the Mess tent, Hawkeye was trying to cheer Trapper up.

"Come on, this is a party," Hawkeye said. "Find a nurse, have some fun."

"I'm sorry," Trapper said sarcastically. "I'm a little funned out after watching you and Hotlips make out for the last half hour."

"Jeez, Trapper," Hawkeye said, getting slightly annoyed. "Get over yourself, will you? What about all the families who don't have fathers and sons coming back ever, and will never share another day, let alone holiday, with their loved ones?"

"Just drop it," Trapper snapped. "You can't guilt me into feeling better you know. Just go back to your girl and leave me to my depression."

Hawkeye might have had a smart comment to make if he hadn't been interrupted and forgot what he was going to say.

"I'm crazy!" yelled Frank drunkenly as he burst in the door, knocking Radar to the ground. He was wearing what looked like a wedding dress, with matching white pumps. "I'm not fit for this man's army!"

"Hey!" Klinger hollered. "Not only is he stealing my bit, he's stealing my dresses! Get your own act, Burns!"

Frank saw Margaret sitting at a table nearby, and he tripped over to her, slipping slightly in the shoes. He grabbed her hand and held it to his chest.

"Margaret, Margaret," he moaned. "Why? Why!" Margaret seemed freaked out by the entire thing, though it might have been the alcohol on his breath that made her lean back away from him.

"Hawkeye. Hawkeye!" she screeched, trying to pull away. "HELP! Hawkeye!"

"Frank, get away from her!" Hawkeye said, leaving Trapper's side hurriedly and striding over to them.

"I think he broke my nose," Radar said loudly, his hand over his nose. Klinger had also gone over to Frank, and had started yelling excitedly at the Major.

"My section eight! It's mine!" Klinger yelled. "I came up with the idea for the dresses, and I'll be damned if you get out of here before I do on the same trick!"

"Margaret! My sweet Margaret!"

"I'm warning you Frank, leave her alone!"

"Get away, Frank!"

"I'M the psycho of the camp. Me!"

"He broke my nose!"

"Mine!"

"Frank!"

"Frank!"

"Margaret!"

"My nose!"

Henry jumped awake, and blearily looked around. "I'll have eggnog," he said before falling back into the dip and falling asleep again almost instantly.

In the corner of the tent, Trapper started smiling. In his mind, he could picture his two girls squabbling over some toy, his mother arguing with his wife about the proper way to cook a Christmas dinner, his uncle making drunken comments to his wife's sister, and his cousin and brother-in-law having a punch-up outside in the cold, his father probably egging them on and taking bets from the neighbours.

"Frank, I'm not going to warn you again!"

"Don't get blood on the skirt, Radar! This is an original!"

"Honey-Bunch!"

"Frank, unhand me or I'll scream!"

"Will someone please look at my nose!"

Suddenly, Trapper felt right at home.

* * *

Koosh: Well, that served almost no purpose. Merry Christmas anyway! Catch you next year!

**The challenge:**

Write a MASH fic

Where Frank wears a dress,

Margaret admits to having an affair with Hawkeye behind Frank's back,

And Klinger dyes his hair pink

* * *

_As an added bonus, Kooshball presents:_

**The 4077th's 12 Days of Christmas (final verse only)**

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my mistress gave to me,

Twelve rowdy corpsmen,

Eleven martini olives,

Ten blushing nurses,

Nine fur stoles,

Eight shiny scalpels,

Seven metal fragments,

Six letters home,

Five fractured bones,

Four dug latrines,

Three Swamp rats,

Two helicopters,

And a Major stuck in a tree.


End file.
